I remember when we were gambling to win
by obedientlittlevictor
Summary: Everybody else said better luck next time. Auggie dies and Annie kills and there is nothing but lies. That was a lie.


_Auggie dies and Annie kills and there is nothing but lies. That was a lie._

She was wearing a black trench coat when she died. A black trench coat, black jeans, and black high heeled boots. People wear black to funerals, don't they? How convenient. She could just go straight to her own funeral.

Except she was dead but not really dead and still blonde. So perfectly blonde and her heart stopped.

Except then she was alive but not really alive and later brunette. She thanked a brunette man who had just enough in his syringe for a prompt revival and she thought maybe she should kiss him because she was so suddenly dark and she needed light. He brought her light sometimes, she told herself; after all, he brought her back to life. She needed light. But zombies live for human flesh and she had a mission to complete.

She should have thought of this moment, the moment when the man revived her because then she would remember that people can die but not really die.

If she would have just remembered that, well, suffice it to say that it probably would have saved her a lot of trouble. She should have remembered it because she could have saved more than just trouble, but now we are getting ahead of ourselves in our story of the woman who was dead but not really dead and still blonde. And later brunette.

* * *

Her first target was some pathetic no-name lowlife she met in some pathetic no-name city. She was a hooker. Funny, wasn't her first mission to play a hooker?

But back then, she was green, so green that her skin probably reflected the greenness of her green fresh-picked Farm greenness. Now, you ask? She was green again too. Except her skin really did reflect green, the green of the neon lights in the back alley of whatever city she was in.

She was on her knees, green skin wrapped around this pathetic no-name lowlife (you know what I mean, right? She wouldn't want too many details told, but this is a story that needs to come out somehow).

Her mission was simple, you see: she would ask where his boss was and he would squeal like a pig. Mostly because she would have a knife pressed against his _ahem_, and she would spit out the taste and try not to let herself ask why she let it get that far.

Simple was never her forte, you see: before she got to that part of the mission, he would press a gun against her temple and laugh at her and tell her that his back up was on its way and then he would inject her with something and the world would go dark _darkdarkdark_. She still needed light.

She underestimated him. She underestimated how much of a pathetic no-name lowlife he was. Better luck next time.

He was very important and very underwhelmed because she was supposed to be _good_. Some kind of spy she was.

Except she wasn't a spy but she was a spy and now all she was was captured. Maybe she should have stayed blonde for all the good going brunette did her.

She would later reflect on this moment, but only for a split second, when she was naked and strung up from a ceiling and praying for miracles, that there must have been a leak but how could there have been a leak because she was dead but not really dead. Right?

* * *

Henry didn't believe Calder. Call it a gut feeling. Call it instinct. Call it paranoia. Call it what you will, but Henry didn't believe Calder.

That's about all there is to say about that.

Except Calder deserves a bit of justice too. He deserves to have someone know what happened to him.

Check the Potomac, if you're really that curious. Way deep at the bottom, all because of a gut feeling. Or instinct. Or paranoia.

* * *

Henry was on the next flight out to whatever pathetic no-name city she was in before she even woke up.

Henry's dirty eyes found her, all of her, naked and strung up from a ceiling when he landed, and his lips curled back in a feral grin and he showed her a video of Calder.

Well, what was left of Calder. Acid is getting to be a popular torture technique.

She was responsible. She knew that. She would never get Calder's screams out of her head. The way Henry seemed to laugh the entire time. And laugh and laugh and couldn't stop laughing.

She was responsible for what was next too.

Henry brought out his own mission, you see: he was beautiful, her Auggie. Even in sleep _notdeathpleasenotdeath_. Henry propped him up against the wall in front of her and let her beg and plead but she had nothing to bargain with.

Henry took everything from her anyway (you know what I mean, right? She wouldn't want too many details told, but this is a story that needs to come out somehow). She didn't know what she was crying from anymore.

Henry was a spy, and you can't forget that detail, because you'll forget that his aim is impeccable. His aim is always impeccable, and when he hits that sweet spot slightly to the left of her Auggie's sternum everything goes red and then dark. She still needed light.

She falls to the floor when Henry cuts her binds later, minutes or hours or eons later. Her Auggie doesn't have a pulse.

* * *

Henry always thought himself considerate and giving. He considerately gave her a choice. It didn't matter, really, because a bullet would find its way into her head anyway. Just from whose hand?

She pressed the gun to her own temple and laughed. She laughed and laughed and couldn't stop laughing.

She should have thought of that moment, do you remember which moment? The moment when the man revived her because then she would remember that people can die but not really die.

She didn't, though, she didn't think of that moment, or maybe she did think of that moment, in the split second her finger pulled the trigger and Auggie—no.

Auggie would think of that moment for her, he would remember that people can die but not really die, he would remember that for the rest of his life. But sometimes people really do die and that's about all there is to say about that.

* * *

She was wearing a black trench coat when she died. A black trench coat, black jeans, and black high heeled boots. People wear black to funerals, don't they? How convenient. She could just go straight to her own funeral.

* * *

Remember how Auggie dies and Annie kills and there is nothing but lies? That was a lie.

Henry had just enough in the syringe for a prompt revival. But zombies live for human flesh, you see. Henry underestimated Auggie. Better luck next time.

Annie dies and Auggie kills and there can be something besides lies. That was a lie.

* * *

**Author's Note: Title from Metric's _Gold Guns Girls_. This was darker than I expected. Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


End file.
